


What You Did In The Dark

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Clubbing, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Star Trek fusion. In which Gabe is half-Klingon, Pete is half-faily, and they fall for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Did In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpheratz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/gifts).



> For M., because reasons. ♥

Pete loves Starfleet. It gives him a good job on Deep Space Four as a junior engineering specialist, food to eat, and a place to sleep, and it caters to his deep and sincere desire to meet new people from new civilizations, and then to get sweaty and horizontal with them. 

"I'm really expanding the limits of my body and mind," he tells Travie after shift one day. "Can't ask for more than that in life."

Travie rolls his eyes and checks the holoball scores on his tricorder. "And by expanding your limits, you mean..."

"Last night I had a date with Lel from stellar cartography. She has recordings of some kind of subsonic Horta mating songs that are supposed to lead to the best sex ever."

"Why don't you just have sex with a Horta?"

Pete glares at him. "You meet a lot of Hortas just hanging around? They have a very insular culture. They like to stay home."

"So did the songs do the trick?" Travie glances up from his tricorder. "Tell me for science."

Pete bites his lip and shrugs. "It was okay."

"Not mind-expanding."

"I guess not."

"So... you're full of shit."

Pete glares at him. "I'm not having lunch with you today, just for that."

"I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, though?"

"Of course," Pete says, holding out his fist for Travie to bump, and they go their separate ways.

Pete goes to the replicafe and orders his usual. He needs to read up on some specs over lunch, so really it's good that he's not eating with Trav. If he doesn't get on top of his game in a hurry, he'll be written up, and evals are around the corner. He doesn't want to get bumped down to station nightshift, or worse, rotated off the station altogether.

"Rokeg blood pie and firewine," comes a voice from behind him. "I don't think I've ever seen a human order those voluntarily."

Pete turns and looks up... and up. Tall guy. Medical blues. Dark curly hair, huge dark eyes, brow ridges. Pete frantically tries to match those particular brow ridges to an interstellar race and comes up snake eyes.

"I like them," he says stupidly.

"Blood pie, firewine, and... a grilled cheese." He smiles. "I'll have to try that combination sometime."

"I'm Pete. Lieutentant Wentz. Uh, JG. Engineering." Pete manages to hold out his hand without dropping his tray. "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Saporta. Medical." Saporta shakes his hand and smiles. "That's a full LT."

"Saporta." That's not matching with his mental taxonomy, either. "What, uh, what type of name is that?"

"Hispanic."

Pete blinks. "You're human?"

Saporta frowns. "Rude."

"Sorry."

"Half-human. The other half..." Saporta taps the edge of Pete's tray. "Well, you're eating the food of my people, Lt. Wentz."

_Oh._ "The food of your people is awesome."

"Have you ever had heart of targh?"

"Raw or cooked?"

Saporta laughs out loud, throwing his head back. It's kind of mesmerizing. "Cooked heart of targh is an abomination. So is replicated. You need it raw and fresh-pulled from the chest cavity. Still dripping blood."

Pete takes a shaky breath. "I... haven't had it that way, no."

"That's a shame." Saporta smiles at him, baring his teeth. "Enjoy your lunch."

Pete stares after him as he walks away. _So much hotter than a Horta._

**

Back in his quarters after dinner, Pete goes to his PADD and runs a search for Klingon sex. The computer, in its usual non-judgemental way, asks him if he wants an academic summary of cultural mores, or to go directly to the database of pornography. Pete doesn't hesitate. He's never been an academic.

Five hours later he carefully turns off the PADD and stumbles to the bathroom, ricocheting off three pieces of furniture and a wall. He strips out of his sweaty, damp uniform, places himself in the sonic shower, and says, "Computer, maximum. I am a very dirty boy."

He is definitely in love.

**

He spends a week trying to come up with a strategy, and mostly failing. From what he can figure out by asking the computer for Lt. Saporta's location every half-hour, Saporta tends to stick around his quarters when he's off-shift. He goes to the holosuites every other day, and the night before his day off he sometimes goes to a live music performance at one of the clubs on the station. He also gets a lot of massages.

According to the personnel database, his first name is Gabriel, he was born on Sereti 8 but spent most of his childhood at Utopia Planitia, and he had a brief pre-medicine career as a minorly successful musician.

Pete requests all of his music from the database and tries to figure out what to do with any of this information. He does this way, way too often: amass a lot of data on people he finds fascinating, and then can't come up with a way to approach them that doesn't involve admitting, _I datamined your whole life. Please love me._

Listening to the music doesn't give him a plan, but it does give him an erection, and a need for another long sonic shower. He _knows_ this music. This is what he used to listen to at home after fighting with his parents about how not everyone could have a fully-formed life plan and be a prodigy admission to Starfleet Academy on command-track at age fourteen. Some people were late bloomers. Some people needed time to get kicked out of holoclubs and write bad poetry.

Some people loved Planitia power-punk.

When he's dressed again, the computer tells him that Lt. Saporta is in Holosuite Three. Pete marches down to the holosuite block and waits out side the door, arms wrapped around himself, feet jittering impatiently on the flooring. People are looking at him funny, but he doesn't care.

Saporta comes out of Holosuite Three and Pete rushes forward to meet him. "You're Gabe Saporta."

Saporta blinks at him. "Yes...?"

"You're Gabe Saporta from N'vok N'tahg."

He looks wary. "Yeah. That was a long time ago, though."

"I _loved_ N'vok N'tahg. That band changed my life."

"Well. Thank you." Saporta shifts his weight and glances around. "I should..."

"Your holoavatar. That snake! It was amazing!"

"It was a long time ago." Saporta gives him a forced, brittle smile. "I'm glad it meant a lot to you, though."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"No." 

Pete blinks. "What?"

"No." There's a genuine growl in Saporta's voice this time, and it both makes Pete want to dive into a corner to hide and sends a hot shiver up his spine. "You can leave me the fuck alone."

He walks off and Pete stares after him, wondering what the hell he did wrong.

**

Travie explains it to him at lunch the next day. "You went all worship on him, man."

"But he flirted with _me_ the first time we met."

"Yeah. He wanted you to like the guy, not the snake."

"I haven't even seen his snake," Pete mutters.

"You're being deliberately dense." Travie points his fork at him. "Knock it off."

"Yeah. Yeah." Pete bites his lip. "I was just so excited to find out it was _him_."

"He's not him. Are you the same guy you were then? No. You've grown. You've changed."

"On the inside I kind of think I am the same, though."

"That doesn't mean you want to be treated the same, does it?"

"I guess not." Pete groans and puts his head down on the table. "What do I do now, then?"

Travie shrugs and puts his napkin over Pete's head. "Next time you see him, treat him like a person." 

"I don't think he ever wants to see me again."

"He's in medical, isn't he? Next time you hurt yourself, maybe you'll get lucky."

Pete peeks out from under the napkin at him. "That's genius."

"Do _not_ hurt yourself on purpose."

"Sure."

"Pete. I mean it."

"I won't. I won't." Pete sits up, letting the napkin fall to the floor. "But if I'm practicing my Klingon seduction techniques in the holosuites and stuff _happens_..."

Travie's arm snakes out and grabs him by the shirtfront. "Quit fetishizing his ancestry and treat him like an individual." He shakes Pete a little. "Dumbass."

"Oh." Pete sits back down. "Okay. That's more complicated."

**

"Lieutenant Wentz." Saporta blinks over the edge of his PADD and sighs. "Welcome to Sickbay."

"Lieutenant Saporta." Pete tries to smile. It's hard when the left side of his face won't move. 

"What did you do to yourself? Don't tell me." Saporta grabs his tricorder and scans Pete's face, then presses a hypospray to his neck. "Now tell me."

Pete clears his throat and closes his eyes, letting the medication kick in. "Holosuite."

"It's always the holosuites."

"I was rock-climbing on Tasana 4. My belay broke."

"Did the safety controls fail?" Saporta frowns and runs the dermal regenerator over Pete's cheek. 

"No. I bounced down the cliff on my face and bruised the shit out of my back when I hit the ground. But if it had been a real cliff, I'd be dead, so, you know."

"Are you an adrenaline junkie, Lieutenant?"

Pete shrugs. "Yeah."

Saporta blinks a few times and almost smiles as he puts the regenerator aside. "Me too."

"Yeah? Do you do the climbing programs?"

"I do a lot of spy and crime holonovels." He scans Pete again. "You really did a number on your back. Lie face-down, please."

Pete does as he's told. "I can't commit to a plot. No attention span."

"I tend to do about half of one, then get distracted and just go dancing for three weeks." Pete feels the warmth of the subdermal regenerator go down his back. "Now you know my dirty secret."

"What kind of dancing?" Pete closes his eyes. "The clubs on Risa? Betazed?"

"A little too bourgeois for me." The tricorder chirps softly. "I prefer the underground scene of Andros One. Or Station Zeta. Stuff like that."

"Dude." Pete looks back over his shoulder. "The Station Zeta underground is _sick_. Have you ever been there for real?"

Saporta actually smiles at him. "In my misspent youth."

"If I bought you a raktajino, would you tell me about it?"

Saporta closes his tricorder with a snap. "Make it a raktajino and a jelly doughnut and you're on."

**

Before their date, Pete makes a list.

_Likes:_  
\- Jelly doughnuts  
\- Authentic Klingon cuisine  
\- Underground club scenes  
\- Holonovels 

_Dislikes:_  
\- Talking about N'vok N'tahg  
\- Bourgeois club scenes  
\- Bullshit 

He can work with that. Probably.

**

"So I spent, I guess, a year with this Vulcan spiritual healer, on this moon in the Tana system." Gabe--he told Pete to call him Gabe, since they're off-duty, and Pete's pretty sure that's a good sign--takes a sip of raktajino and shrugs. "And then I woke up one morning and realized, this isn't putting any good back into the universe. This is self-indulgent and childish. I need to do some real good. Something concrete and authentic."

"So you joined Starfleet medical?" Pete rests his chin in his hands. Gabe is sort of amazingly beautiful.

"Yeah. I did the Medical Academy in... three years? Yeah, three years."

"That's really unusual."

"Well, I was motivated." Gabe shrugs and pushes his cup aside. "I wanted to make my dad proud. I'd already wasted enough of his time and support with the band and then running around with Vulcan spiritualists."

Pete winces. "I know how that goes."

"What about you?" Gabe stares at him with sudden, sharp intensity. "What's your story?"

"I don't really have one."

"Everybody has a story."

Pete sits back in his chair and thinks for a minute. "Ne'er-do-well decides to work with his hands."

"That's definitely a story."

"It was that or join the Maquis and get shot on day one."

Gabe grins, which isn't what Pete expected. "So no deep philosophical attachment to Starfleet's mission, huh?"

Pete shrugs. "I'm not _against_ it, just..."

"Everybody takes themselves so fucking seriously, right?"

Pete grins. "They're all pretty far up their own asses, yeah."

"Shit, I know what you mean." Gabe glances at his PADD and stands up. "I have an appointment, so I've gotta..."

"Oh, of course." Pete gets to his feet. "Thanks for, you know. Hanging with me. After I was a jerk before."

"You really weren't. I was being an idiot." Gabe shrugs and reaches for his tray, then hesitates. "I've got Holosuite Three booked for nineteen hundred hours. If you want to run the Andros One club district with me."

"I'd love to," Pete says. He keeps his victory dance to himself until Gabe has walked away.

**

The Andros One club district, at least in hologram form, is pretty much everything Pete has ever wanted out of life.

"My next leave, I'm going here for real," he pants into Gabe's ear. They're running down an alley, trying to make it to the next secret show location before all the doors lock down and they're stuck wandering dark streets waiting for the next signal light to go up. Gabe's got long legs, but Pete's used to running. They're not losing each other.

"It's a fucking riot." Gabe's shoulder glances off a beam and Pete body-checks him hard to keep him from losing his balance. "I'll give you some names to look up."

"There it is. Blue door! Blue door!" They put on an extra burst of speed and make it through the door just before it slams closed and the district goes dark. Pete gasps for air and tilts his head back as the lights in the club come on in blue and green. _Yes_.

The music is dark and harsh, crawling over his skin and up through his bones. It makes him want to scream and thrash and set something on fire. He hasn't felt this way in ages. He wants it to be _real_ , not a holosuite trick, but he knows he might not ever really make it to Andros. He's going to enjoy what he can get.

Gabe grabs his hand and pulls him out onto the floor. The crowd is dense and hot, the floor slick with sweat and spilled drinks. Pete grips Gabe's hand tight, not because he needs him but because he doesn't want to let him go, and maybe out here he can admit that without it blowing up in his face. Maybe.

He looks up at Gabe through the flashing lights. Gabe's eyes are closed, his head back, sweat running down from his hair, gliding over skin and gathering at the swell of his brow ridges. Pete wants to lick the sweat off, wants to scrape his teeth against the edges of the ridges and see if it makes Gabe moan. He wants to feel Gabe's teeth against his own skin. He wants to get down on his knees and suck Gabe's cock. His libido is escalating this encounter quickly.

Someone crashes against his back and he falls forward, throwing his arms out to keep his balance. Gabe's arm curls around his waist and yanks him back upright, pressed to Gabe's side. He looks up again to mouth _thanks_ , the idea falling forgotten when he sees the look on Gabe's face now. _Oh_. 

Apparently he's not the only one who gets off on dancing and old-style power-punk.

Gabe's closes his hand around Pete's wrist and drags him off the dancefloor, back through the crowd at the bar, down a narrow hallway to a dingy room. "Dresing room," he says, his voice a low, thick growl. "All ours right now."

"No security?" Pete can't believe he just asked that. He is _ruining his own fantasy_.

"Andros doesn't do security." Gabe leans in and sniffs Pete's neck, just below his ear. He growls again. "Fuck. I can smell you."

"I can smell you too. We're both really sweaty."

Gabe laughs and leans in even closer, and _yes_ , his teeth brushing over Pete's skin feels just the way he imagined it. "I can smell how much you want to fuck."

Oh, _fuck_. Yes. Just like in all the porn. Pete shoves that thought down as far as it will go. "Yeah. Yeah. I want to... yes."

Gabe licks over his jugular. "Are you going to roar for me?"

Pete leans his head back and yells, letting it come up from his guts like it used to when he went out at night and screamed at the stars because he couldn't stand keeping anything inside a minute longer. He yells louder when Gabe's teeth close on his cheek, biting down hard enough that he feels the skin tear and hot blood mix spill under Gabe's tongue. Gabe licks the wound clean, and that fucking _hurts_ but it's also goddamn amazing. 

"Do it again," Gabe growls, and Pete grabs at him, struggling to get closer, not to get away. Gabe's hands tighten on him and he lifts Pete up off the ground, carrying him the few paces to the wall and slamming him against it hard. Pete yells again, as best he can with the wind knocked out of him, and grinds down against Gabe's thigh as Gabe plants his knee between Pete's legs to keep him up off the floor.

Gabe goes after his mouth, his face, his neck, like he wants to eat Pete alive. Pete isn't complaining; he kind of wants to _be_ eaten right now, be consumed, be taken apart. This is better than Betazoid tantra. This is better than Ataxian ka-do. This is, quite possibly, the sex Pete has been looking for his entire life.

"You're mine," Gabe growls, his hand sliding down to undo Pete's trousers. "My _mate_."

Pete's breath stutters in his chest. "Is that-- is that a long-term thing, or--"

Gabe shuts him up with another bite and Pete just... surrenders. Submission has never been his thing, or at least he didn't think so. Right now, though, somehow it just feels right. 

Gabe moves his knee and Pete slides down to the floor, hitting his knees hard enough to bruise and reaching for Gabe's fly. He can smell Gabe, too, heat and sweat and some kind of musky _thing_ that should be gross but really, really isn't. He wants to imagine he can smell how much Gabe wants to fuck, like Gabe can smell on him. He wants to yell again. He wants to bite.

He can do the last one. He bites Gabe's inner thigh as hard as he can, shaking his head like a dog with a bone. Gabe howls and grabs Pete's head with both hands, holding him in place until Pete lets go and licks over the mark the same way Gabe did.

Pete really only has two more thoughts before he finds Gabe's dick and takes it as deep in his throat as he can. One, that this is definitely what he's been looking for for all these years. No questions.

And two, that he really hopes security isn't monitoring the holosuite feeds tonight.

**

Matehood means getting carried back to Gabe's quarters after their holosuite time expires, with Gabe snarling at everyone they pass. Then it means getting a nest of blankets and pillows built around him, and Gabe's body curled up in the next _with_ him, and kisses all night. Kisses and tiny, sharp bites all over his body. 

He's going to cancel his shifts for two days and Travie's going to think he's lost his mind. He is okay with that.

"I'll actually fix you up in the morning," Gabe mumbles in his ear. "I've got two dermal regenerators under the bed and another one in the bathroom."

"That's less sexy." Pete butts his head hard against Gabe's shoulder. "I want to keep your marks on me forever."

"You won't think that in the morning when they hurt like shit."

"I will too."

Gabe rolls his eyes and smiles, adding another bite mark to Pete's chest. "Yeah, okay."

"You know, according to my dad's home system, we're married now."

Gabe just nods and rests his forehead against Pete's, breathing in time. "Works for me."

"We barely know each other. You don't _like_ me."

Gabe moves his head to rest on Pete's shoulder, and Pete gives in to the temptation to lick his brow ridges. They're perfect. Of course.

Gabe laughs. "I think I'll keep you anyway."


End file.
